


Breakfast at Nicole's

by thatmasquedgirl



Series: Monsters in the Mirror [10]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark, Deathstroke!Felicity, F/M, Felicity Smoak Has PTSD, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon, Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon 2018, Oliver Queen & Felicity Smoak friendship, One Shot, POV Oliver Queen, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Sexual Tension, vigilante!Felicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/pseuds/thatmasquedgirl
Summary: Oliver tries to help Felicity, but she just creates problems for him.More Monsters, this time with waffles.Takes place right after the events in Breaking and Entering.Written for TheBookJumper's Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon 2018.  Prompt:  wanting.





	Breakfast at Nicole's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennfics/gifts).



> Shout-out to Jenn, who gave me the idea for this fic like a lifetime ago. Jenn, you are awesome. :)
> 
> Sorry it's so short.
> 
> Thanks, y'all, for reading! Sorry I've been behind on replying to reviews; I've been working insane hours. Thank you for sticking with me!
> 
> Artwork is by magda1102, who seemed to have predicted my idea for a Monsters fic this week. :)

 

* * *

 

There’s an eerie calm about Felicity ever since Oliver picked her up from her home. He expected her to be shaken after the intruder, but instead, she’s _too_ reserved. In another situation, her silence would seem thoughtful, but her fingers drum against her thigh as she bites the inside of her lip.

Every part of him begs to ask her questions, but he knows Felicity won’t talk about what happened last night until she’s ready. She murdered a man who broke into her house and tried to kill her—that’s enough trauma without him trying to get her to open up.

It isn’t murder he’s worried about her being able to handle; Felicity has been raining death upon those who deserve it for the last three years. The man broke into her _home_ —her special place, where she always feels safe—and attacked her. A chill works its way up Oliver’s spine just thinking about it. If someone forced their way into the basement of Verdant, he’d never go back again. A safe place is only useful as long as it feels safe, but she has no choice about where to go back to eventually. After all, she’s a homeowner and Roy shares the space with her.

It takes him a moment to decide that Felicity needs a distraction from this. The last time, they used alcohol, but he doubts she’ll allow that at seven in the morning. They need somewhere that’s comfortable and quiet, where she won’t have to think about this any longer. Verdant would just make her exert herself on the training dummies. Not to mention she’s probably starving after missing breakfast—

The moment it comes to him, Oliver slides across two lanes of traffic to make the turn in time. Felicity jumps in her seat, slamming her hand against the dash. “What the hell, Oliver?” she demands loudly. “Are _you_ trying to kill me today, too?”

“I’m trying to take you to breakfast, actually,” he replies in an even tone. When she doesn’t say anything, he continues, “There’s a diner a few blocks from here. Nicole’s. My dad used to take me when I went to work with him.” He smiles at the memory, even though it startles him; he didn’t mean to tell her that. Sometimes he’s far too comfortable with Felicity. “They have the best waffles in the city.”

Even with the temptation of waffles, she throws him a look. “I don’t have my wallet,” is all she says.

Though he knows it’s just an excuse, Oliver humors her anyway. “Felicity, I’m sure I have enough money to pay for one meal,” he replies in a dry tone. She opens her mouth to protest, but he doesn’t let her. “You can even pay next time, if you want.” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Even though I’m sure my trust fund allowance will cover it.”

“Your flamboyant spending is not one of your better qualities, Oliver,” Felicity states with a roll of her eyes. After a pause, she sighs. “I know you’re trying to comfort me, but I don’t need it. And I’m not hungry.”

It isn’t two seconds later when her stomach growls.

Oliver tries to hide a satisfied smile as she sighs. It takes her several minutes to admit it, but finally she asks in a small voice: “You said they have waffles?”

“Best in the city,” he repeats.

Felicity crosses her arms. “I hate being treated like I’m fragile,” she states flatly, “so I’m only allowing this because I’m starving and I love waffles.” When Oliver grins, she makes a face. “Don’t think you’ve won anything.”

As he pulls into the parking lot in front of the fifties-style diner, Oliver assures her, “I would never assume that.”

The two of them walk into the restaurant in silence. Oliver holds the door open for her, which only earns him a dark look as she slips past him. He leads her to a corner booth near the back, where both of them can sit and see the exits. When he slides into the red vinyl booth on one side, Felicity slides in next to him.

When the waitress comes for their orders, Felicity’s fingers drum on the table as she sits silently, staring at the checkered tabletop. Assuming that she’s trying to sort out her thoughts, Oliver orders for the two of them. Even after the waitress bustles away with a frown, Felicity doesn’t stop. He thinks it might be a nervous habit, something she’s doing automatically as she replays the previous night’s events in her head.

After two minutes of silence and clicking nails on the table, he reaches over and stills her hand with his own. “Reliving it won’t help you,” he tells her gently. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Shaking her head, she replies, “It isn’t that.” She draws a series of shapes on top of the table next. He thinks they might be ones and zeroes—computer code. Her mouth opens several times. “I hesitated, Oliver.” She looks up at him with haunted eyes. The bruise over her left eye is darkening, and it just makes him angry all over again. “I _never_ hesitate.”

Oliver has been through a lot with Felicity, seen her do a grim variety of things to other human beings, but he’s never seen her falter before. “Whatever happened must have been horrible,” is his conclusion. He almost wishes she hadn’t killed her attacker; Oliver would have enjoyed killing the asshole himself. He’s never enjoyed torture, but the man deserved a slow, painful death for laying a hand on her.

It’s only when Felicity takes his hand that he realizes his fingers have clenched into a fist. She smooths his hand out flat. “If I can’t wallow, neither can you,” she says flatly. “This isn’t your fault. I don’t need you to protect me.”

Oliver has seen her in a fight; he knows just how lethal Felicity can be. It doesn’t change the way he feels, though. “I know that, but…” He sighs. “You once told me that you’d go to war to save me,” he reminds her, staring down at her hands through his. He looks up to meet her eyes. “You shouldn’t expect anything less from me.”

They share a tentative smile as the waitress returns with their food. “Two coffees, black,” she declares as she sits them down in front of the pair. She passes Oliver’s plate to him first. “Vegetable omelet.” When she sits Felicity’s order in front of her, it’s with a small syrup pitcher(?). “Chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream and strawberries.”

Oliver thanks the woman as Felicity glances between him and her plate. A slight smile appears on her lips before it breaks into a frown. “Oliver,” she starts, and he winces. That’s not a good tone. “I _told_ you I don’t need to be coddled. I’m rattled, but I’m coping, and you don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.”

He sighs as he cuts a piece of his omelet with his fork. “Felicity, you were attacked by a man in your own home,” he declares, unapologetic. She may not know how to ask for his help, but she’s going to get it when she needs it. “Let me coddle you a little.” He touches her hand. “You deserve it.”

The protest dies on her lips. With a huff, she pulls her hand away, reaching instead for her silverware. Oliver pops a piece of his omelet into his mouth, knowing she’ll concede eventually. With Felicity, it’s all about time: she doesn’t stay angry at him for very long, especially when she knows he’s right.

As she takes her first bite of her meal, a sinful sound comes out of Felicity’s mouth. Oliver nearly chokes on his own food. “Oh, _God_ ,” she moans, and he can suddenly imagine her moaning it under different circumstances. “Oliver, you were right: best waffles in the city.” She makes that noise again and he almost drops his fork. “I’ve never tasted anything this good before.”

The room feels as though they raised the temperature fifty degrees, but Oliver is frozen, unable to do anything more than stare. He watches helplessly as she picks a strawberry off the top, dipping it in the massive amount of whipped cream on top. She pops it into her mouth with another moan. Then she proceeds to lick the remaining whipped cream off her fingers, one by one.

It makes a part of him react that has no business reacting.

Oliver has wanted a lot of things in his lifetime—most of them things that he didn’t deserve to have. He has desired, he has needed, coveted, and dreamed of _so many things_ that he could never have—more things than anyone would ever imagine from a billionaire with a seemingly endless trust fund. There were times he would have thrown his fortune away for one trivial thing that wouldn’t change anything. There were things he wanted so badly that he would have cheated, stolen, maimed, tortured, or even killed for, even before he became a monster on that island.

All of that wanting combined doesn’t compare to the way he wants to lick that whipped cream from the corner of her mouth.

Maybe this is his version of Hell, sitting next to a beautiful woman he can’t touch, listening to her make noises that wouldn’t be out of place in a bedroom. _Over food._ It’s hardly a secret that he’s attracted to her. He’s a straight man with a healthy libido, and, even with a black eye and bruises littering her throat, Felicity is stunning. Despite that, he’s never been tempted to do anything before. But right now, he’d sell his soul to be able to make love to her.

Another noise from that wicked mouth pulls Oliver out of his thoughts. She slips a hand under the table to place it on his lower thigh, and his jeans suddenly become uncomfortably tight. “I’m sorry about being so hard on you before,” Felicity says. She has no idea just how hard she’s made things for him. “Thank you for bringing me here. And treating me to breakfast.”

“My pleasure,” is Oliver’s only reply, his voice coming out in a deep rasp.

As she removes her hand from his leg, she takes a deep breath and focuses in on his omelet again, not even looking in her direction for fear of his own actions. From the moment he met Felciity Smoak, Oliver was sure she was going to kill him. He thought it would be with her swords, but that might not be the only weapon in her arsenal.

Taking the chance, he glances over to find Felicity happily munching on a waffle while licking whipped cream off her fingers. She catches him staring with a shy smile, before picking up a strawberry and dropping it on his plate with a wink.

Oliver decides wanting her might actually kill him.

As he smiles back at her, he decides it’s worth the risk.


End file.
